


the heavy world's upon your shoulders

by Nebbles



Series: Ferdinand Week 2021 [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Silver Snow Route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:33:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29004543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nebbles/pseuds/Nebbles
Summary: “Do you still view me as noble?”Seteth’s silence hardly surprises him. Ferdinand nearly regrets airing this, the weight of the question anchoring him in place. What a foolish thing he’s asked, to even consider, for the great Ferdinand von Aegir to doubt who he is—“Do I have reason not to?”------Far past the hour he should be awake, looking over maps and battle strategies that offer nothing new, Ferdinand and Seteth speak of his future.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Seteth
Series: Ferdinand Week 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134809
Comments: 17
Kudos: 34
Collections: Ferdinand Week 2021





	the heavy world's upon your shoulders

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I've wanted to write for a while, since I've wished for Seteth and Ferdinand to have supports for ages at this point, and I think they'd bond during Silver Snow. Plus, Ferdinand deserves a proper father figure in his life.
> 
> For Day 2, Nobility+Past/Future.

Ferdinand has never been fond of silence.

It’s often left him alone with his thoughts, ones he’s always been fond of ignoring. Predating the war, he seldom found an issue in this, as the worst thoughts he had were of trivial matters. Scores on his exams, if he was conducting himself in a noble manner, small things that truly never did matter. These moments seem far away, more a dream than a distant memory, as if such halcyon days never existed in the first place. 

The papers scattered before him, much too familiar maps and battle plans, melt together into a blurred mess. He rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands, attempting to focus, to try and expel the encroaching exhaustion that claws at the back of his mind. He’s lost track of the hour, and perhaps it’s for the better. Ferdinand doesn’t need to know how long he’s been hunched over the table, seeking a peaceful end for the war that’s never going to show itself.

They’re to storm into Adrestia rather soon, wetting its soil with blood of men he once knew. Wars do not end peacefully, Ferdinand knows, and Edelgard is not one to relent. He is still set to challenge her, for their ideals to clash in a flurry of steel and blood. He is set to end her conquest, and to take the remains of a broken empire to shape back together, despite its missing fragments. He is no longer the bright-eyed boy set to be her left hand; the sun in them has dulled. 

He was raised to help strengthen the empire’s future, and now he is to help strip it of its foundation. This is what war entails, Ferdinand tells himself, but he still harbors difficulties in swallowing the sentiment. The tea in his cup, which has turned cold and bitter, does not aid him in this endeavor. It’s far from his best work, an affront to the fine art of brewing tea, but he readily believes he does not deserve better. If he cannot find it within himself to put forth the effort for something so simple, something he knows well, it is fitting to accept something that tastes acrid on his tongue.

He’s tired. Ferdinand hates to admit when he’s hit a wall, but he’s acutely aware that staring at these weathered maps of Enbarr are doing him no good. Considering he knows the city like the back of his hand, he’s unsure of why he needs them in the first place. Perhaps Ferdinand is humoring himself, acting as if his years as a wanderer have stripped him of his memory of the land he still holds dear.

Ferdinand downs the rest of the tea in one gulp, not bothering to focus on its taste. It’ll keep him awake, and as of now, sleep’s hardly done him any good. There lies no need for dreams of demons dragging him to Myrddin’s bloody waters, of bandits leaving his corpse for the vultures much like they did to his father. If his consciousness is set to betray him, then Ferdinand sees no issue in forcing himself awake. 

The maps are brushed to the side, as Ferdinand holds no desire to have old parchment mock him. Tired eyes scan over a battle plan they’ve made earlier in the day, and yet he doesn’t remember agreeing to it. With a sigh, he rubs his temples, finally letting his eyes close for a second. Can he truly call himself a leader if he’s acting in this way? He holds no lands or title, and who is to say there will be an empire after this war? Is being afraid of the future--is that something one can call noble?

A knock on the doorway pulls Ferdinand away from drowning in his thoughts as he startles, blinking as he looks towards the source.

“I was unaware you were still awake.” Seteth is looking at him with what he believes is concern. “The rest of your former classmates are resting, Ferdinand. I believe you should be as well.”

“I hope you did not come all this way to lecture me.” Ferdinand knows he sounds rather rude here, but he’s not looking to be coddled. He’s  _ fine.  _ “I am just finalizing the details for our march. That is all.”

“I was doing my rounds, and had noticed this was the only room which still held light.” Ah, right. Patrol duty, a necessity during war. “Our march is at the end of this moon, and thus, we have time to smooth out the details during the next war meeting. This is not a feat to accomplish in one night.” Seteth looks to the mess of papers on the table. “And it should not be tasked to one man.”

“It is my duty. These are my orders.” Self inflicted ones, perhaps. 

The other members of the Black Eagles (or former, perhaps) do not wish to assist in launching evasions in their home. Dorothea and Petra are ensuring Brigid is well and helping those who lost their families in the war. Linhardt still does not hold a stomach for violence, and with how frequently he naps, Ferdinand has grown tired of forcing him to attend. Bernadetta remains in her room, and… while Caspar tries, Ferdinand believes he is better in training others. Thus, he is content to take this task in full. He must.

“There lie other members in the monastery who are well versed in tactics. You have Shamir, the professor, as well as myself.” Seteth gives a sigh. “We would be willing to lend our aid.”

“I do not mind. I have been able to accomplish several tasks on my own, and I do not wish to burden others. It is the job of a noble to incite hope within the people, especially when times happen to be difficult.” He’s always been one to ignore his own feelings when he could help others. It’s how he’s always been. “I have done well so far, have I not?”

He isn’t sure if he’s asking for himself, or to be reassured the world is not slipping through his fingers. 

Seteth falls quiet for a moment. “You seem to be reluctant to address yourself.”

That--he was doing no such thing! Ferdinand was helping himself by inspiring the army with his dedication! “Surely you must agree with me that in times of war, keeping morale high takes precedence.”

“Yes, but that logic extends to  _ all  _ members of the army,” Seteth remarks, “and my concerns about you seem to be growing with each passing moment.”

Ferdinand tries not to think about how Seteth, besides Lorenz, is the only person who’s shown an ounce of care towards him. This makes him sound rather lonely, does it not? Pathetic, even. “I assure you they are unfounded.”

“And I would argue otherwise. You look as if you haven’t slept in days.” He gives a frown. “There appears to be much on your mind. If you need someone to bend an ear towards you, I am more than willing to volunteer.”

He’s heard this before. Lorenz has extended the same sentiment, and he’s waved it away each time. Difficult as it is to ignore the worry in his eyes, the hurt, Ferdinand insists he’s alright. The needs of others come before his own; they always have, they always will. He hasn’t broken under the pressure yet, no matter how heavily it weighs on his bones, threatens to grind them into dust.

“Ferdinand.” Seteth repeats, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You have my trust. In kind, I wish for you to offer me yours.”

His trust? Someone would hold faith in a traitor such as himself? A noble who could not defend his lands, who may never return to them? One who now feared the future instead of looking towards it with confidence— _ he  _ was worthy of someone else’s trust?

“I do not know what you wish for me to tell you.” Wanting to look anywhere else but Seteth’s gaze, Ferdinand looks to the mess on the table. He discovers that a few leaves stick to the bottom of the tea cup, dark stains against the porcelain. ...Perhaps it was a worry he’s only gotten ten hours of sleep these past three days. 

“Whatever is vexing you shall suffice, even if it is only a fraction of what ails you.” He pulls out a chair of his own, and goes to sit. “Forgive me if I am pushing you on this matter, but were I to leave here without assisting you in some way, it would hardly be fair.” 

Slowly, Ferdinand sinks into the chair, leaning forward as he props his elbows on the table, head in his hands. He hardly looks proper like this, but he’s so tired, and if he’s to bear a fraction of his soul to Seteth, why hold up appearances? As he thinks of what to say first, he hears Seteth shuffle the papers into an organized pile. It’s a relief to not have them all stare at him, judgment staining the parchment, disguising itself as ink.

He’s afraid to speak, so the question comes out quieter than the breeze that rustles the bushes in the courtyard.

“Do you still view me as noble?”

Seteth’s silence hardly surprises him. Ferdinand nearly regrets airing this, the weight of the question anchoring him in place. What a foolish thing he’s asked, to even consider, for the great Ferdinand von Aegir to doubt who he is—

“Do I have reason not to?”

Ferdinand doesn’t look over yet. “I am a traitor. I have thrown away my future— the one that has been set for me to follow. Instead of attempting to aid Adrestia, I am killing its soldiers. I want to believe I am following my own path, that this is correct, but these waves of self-doubt continue to grip my heart.”

“There never lies any certainty in war. I assure your feelings are normal.” Seteth’s hand finds itself upon Ferdinand’s shoulder once more. “But you do not make reckless decisions, Ferdinand. That is not the type of person you are.” 

He thinks about how he was as a child, how his father and others would tell him to act more like a noble. Past Ferdinand had too many scabby knees and hair tousled by wind. Past Ferdinand wore dirt on his clothes with pride, carrying the smell of wilderness and hay. Past Ferdinand thought he could be his own kind of noble, and quickly learned the world was not kind to those who thought such a way. Perhaps present Ferdinand feels as if he isn’t sure what that word means anymore, and is seeking to act as he did before in hopes it will offer him some comfort.

It doesn’t.

“You say that with such confidence.” Ferdinand swallows thickly. “You were ready to chastise me just now for not taking care of myself.” 

“That is because you should not be allowing yourself to fall to the wayside. Even were you not this army’s leader, there is an importance you carry. None of us would wish to see you in poor health.” He sighs. “I am not the only one concened for your sake.”

Ferdinand recalls all the worried gazes Lorenz has given him over tea.

“Manuela has spoken of her concerns as well, I should let you know. She would hate for you to fall ill.” Ferdinand feels more pitiable by the moment. “I know you refused my previous offer to help you lead this army, but I implore you to reconsider.”

“I am fully capable of handling myself.” It sounds more like a lie than anything, the more it’s repeated. “Truly, I appreciate the concern, but it is unfounded.” 

“Seeing as how you continue to decline me, I am led to believe otherwise.” Ferdinand’s heart stills. “I mean this as no insult. We are not doubting your abilities.”

“Why has no one spoken to me of this, then?” He’s running out of ways to deflect. “Had the others carried such worries, surely they would have spoken up.”

“They have made attempts, and you have been avoiding them.” Ah. This he can’t deny. “Ferdinand, I beseech you, please speak with me. If not, there must be someone you are close enough to confide in.”

He’s silent again, still unable to force himself to look at Seteth. If he does, Ferdinand knows he’ll burst open at the seams, their threads worn and ready to snap. Who in the army will listen to him? And even if he does know who—it’s Lorenz, it’s always Lorenz—why does he refuse to speak up? Ferdinand runs his hands through his hair once more, sighing heavily as he peeks over.

“I do not wish to be a burden.” What a terrible thing to say. 

“A burden?” He can finally see Seteth’s expression, and Goddess, the concern is plain as day. “Why would you refer to yourself as such?”

“You said it yourself. I am a leader, and people are to look to me for strength, to be inspired in war’s darkest times. If I am to fall apart, how does that make me appear to others? Every leader I have read about in the history books remained strong in the face of adversity.” Even if he is to leave no marks in them, can he still not strive to be those who have earned their place? “I do not wish to appear weak, Seteth. It is not something I can afford.”

Seteth’s expression doesn’t waver. “Accepting help is not a sign of weakness. There lies strength in seeking the counsel of others—something I have valued for a long time,” he says, “such as when you and the rest of your class assisted me in finding Flayn. I know I could not have done that on my own. I know this may not be the same situation you have found yourself in, but the sentiment still applies.”

“That does not change the way I feel. Even if you are right, my mind will still tell me the noble thing to do is navigate this on my own as I continue to inspire the people.” Surely his grand speeches have had some positive effect. “I cannot lose my noble heart to sadness.”

“This does not count as losing a part of yourself.” Seteth shakes his head. “I would argue repressing these matters would harm you further in the long run. You are allowed to feel, Ferdinand. You need not bury aspects of yourself to lead us.”

“I… that is…” He’s been taught as a child that leaders must separate their emotions from how they rule, how they operate. They cannot afford to let such matters interfere. 

“I know I cannot change how you were raised, or what you were told in the past.” He gives a frown now, giving Ferdinand’s shoulder another squeeze. “And perhaps it is not my place to guide you, and yet… I am not heartless. I do not wish for you to drown in your struggles.”

Perhaps it’s due to his exhaustion, but Ferdinand has to bite his lip in order to stay the tears that prick the corners of his eyes. “You make it sound as if I am lost. That I have not achieved anything since my return to the monastery.”

“We both know that is not what I meant.” Seteth’s voice grows softer, holds more care. “There must be something you hold pride in. I know that is how you are.”

The nod he gives is slow. “I… I have not let anyone die.” Quietly, he adds on, “I saved Lorenz’s life. He did not die on Myrddin.” He tries not to think of the other possibilities. 

“And he has recovered well, thanks to your efforts.” He offers Ferdinand a smile. “And just as you have offered care to him, you should extend the same grace towards yourself. You are deserving as much, if not more.”

Ferdinand finds himself blinking rapidly, trying yet again to prevent his emotions from overtaking him. “Even if I think myself a traitor?”

Seteth’s smile holds a hint of wistfulness. “I once called Enbarr my home as well. It does leave me with a heavy heart to know we are in arms against the place I still hold dear. I would not call us traitors, Ferdinand. We are simply fighting for what we believe in.” 

A thousand lives lie in Ferdinand’s eyes, the gaze of one who’s seen too much in the twenty-three years he has walked upon Fodlan. He sees this mirrored in Seteth, who seems just as exhausted, if not more so. He’s unsure of why it’s this that gets the first tear to roll down his cheek, body beginning to tremble as he tries to make sense of Seteth’s words.

“I-I feel so terribly  _ lost, _ ” he manages, vision blurring further, “I keep telling myself that I am doing the correct thing, that I am on the right course, and yet I—I am… I am going to kill my emperor, Seteth. How can I call myself noble after such a thing? How can I expect to have a future in Adrestia if all people know me as the one who stained the floor of the Imperial Palace with Edelgard’s blood?”

Now that he’s finally let these thoughts air, they come out in the form of a sob, Ferdinand’s frame shaking with each one that exits his body. He knows it’s pointless to rub his eyes, as it’s impossible to stay any tears. Trembling fingers curl into fists in his lap in an attempt to ground himself, yet only so much success is made. 

“Where am I to go?” He barely registers that Seteth’s rubbing circles into his back. “I cannot— I must be realistic. I know that the Empire may not want me back.” Is he to live a life of wandering again? Is he to search for a purpose while the rest of the world moves on? “What if I do not have a  _ home _ ?”

“We would not let that happen to you.” Carefully, Seteth pulls Ferdinand to his shoulder. “You would be welcome to remain here until you find your way.”

In any other circumstance, Ferdinand knows he would’ve pulled himself away, insisting this was unneeded coddling. However, as another sob shakes his body, it’s hard to argue how terribly he needs the comfort. Speaking is lost upon him as more tears continue to spill over his cheeks, throat and chest tight. This cry is more than overdue, as much as Ferdinand may not wish to admit such matters.

“Garreg Mach will always welcome you.” Seteth’s voice is gentler than before. “You are not alone in this war, Ferdinand, nor were you ever. Whether the support is from myself or another, it is always something you shall have.”

His only response to give a sniffle, breath continuing to hitch. 

“Your future is not lost. We will make sure of that.” Seteth knows exactly what to say, and the way he gives Ferdinand’s arm another reassuring squeeze is well appreciated. It’s close to the care a father would give their child. “I am certain that I am not the only one who feels this way.”

For some time, the only sound audible in the room is Ferdinand’s sobbing. He’s half buried into Seteth’s shoulder at this point, leaning more into him, finding further difficulty to stay upright as exhaustion continues to run down his body. Crying tends to take a lot out of a person, and combined with his lack of sleep, perhaps Ferdinand will earn that night of rest he’s been chasing after for so long.

He does manage to stop the worst of the tears, able to breathe once more. While Ferdinand does want to move out of Seteth’s hold, primarily out of embarrassment, he finds that he’s rather dizzy. It’s easy to rest in this silence, however, and it’s something nice to discover in the midst of his heartache. While this doesn’t count as relaxing, Ferdinand believes he’s finally found something like peace.

“If I may, I do have one correction to make.” A warm smile crosses his face. “I believe you have made more accomplishments than returning Lorenz to us. Despite the fear you must have felt, you were able to take a stand against the empire and fight for your beliefs. That is something to hold pride in—that is to say, Ferdinand, that I am proud of you for the bravery you possess. You have maintained your sense of justice; not one has it wavered. For that, you should feel the same.” 

“Seteth, I…” He’s just stopped crying! He isn’t inclined to begin once more after hearing such kind words. “T-thank you. I… that is quite the praise coming from you.” 

“It is warranted. I believe that even Saint Cichol would be proud that his Crest runs through your veins.” Ferdinand’s eyebrows raise at this. “His Crest is one of strength, after all, which is something you possess,” he gives a wave of his hand, “that is all I mean.”

How… oddly specific. Ferdinand’s far too tired to give this further thought, and decides to just accept his words. If he recalls this in the future, he’ll perhaps ask Seteth about it.

“It is late.” Seteth slowly sits Ferdinand up, and begins to organize the desk. “I will handle cleaning up. Get some rest.”

Ferdinand nearly reaches out for the tray, before realizing it’s not the best of ideas for several reasons. “I will do just that, then, but not without thanks for your kind words. It is relieving to know I have had support, and shall continue to have it.”

“As said, you have more than you think.” He gathers the teapot and cups onto its tray. “Take a few days to yourself to relax, and I am certain your friends shall be warmed to see you in better spirits.”

Friends… Yes, Ferdinand needs to remember that he isn’t alone. Perhaps when he is well enough to take tea with Lorenz, he will begin to open some of his heart. He will remind the others he is here for them, and attempt to take care of himself as well. And if he falls short, he can turn to Seteth, someone who is more than willing to give him the support he’s lacked for so long. Though his future may feel uncertain for now, he doesn’t have to navigate it alone. 

He will continue to be the only type of noble he can be.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, make sure to leave a comment/kudos! If you want to hear about future works and rambles, make sure to follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/that_nebbles)


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